If you like Fun., thank ELO

So, you've heard this hit single from the indie-pop band Fun. I promise you have. It's everywhere, even in a Chevy superbowl ad. It's called "We are Young" and it features Janelle Monae, a revered R&B artist in her own right. It combines Fun.'s (yes, the period is part of the band name) clever pop songwriting prowess with one of hip-hop's top producers to create a sound similar to that of the smash Alicia Keys/Jay-Z collab, "Empire State of Mind," but more theatrical, more intricately melodic. (For more on how this sound came about, check out this feature from the New York Times.)



Hear the right-hand piano chords keeping time with quarter notes on the chorus? Hear those dramatic tempo changes? Hear the complex production, the multi-tracked vocals, the choir? The way the song ends, on a slower, quieter note than anything before it? If this sounds familiar, it's because all of these elements are an homage to 70s prog-rock pioneers Electric Light Orchestra, or ELO.

British band ELO mostly flies under the radar today, only occasionally getting airplay on classic rock stations. But in the 1970s, they were HUGE. Their 1977 double-LP Out of the Blue went platinum, meaning it sold one million copies. They had numerous top-10 singles, all of which combined their symphonic-yet-experimental arrangements and solid pop songwriting to create a sound that defied categorization and predicted by almost a decade the lush production that would become so prevalent in the 1980s (when the new portability of the Moog synthesizer would revolutionize the sound of pop music.) Out of the Blue also produced the hit "Mr. Blue Sky," (itself the soundtrack for a car commercial from the early 2000s) which seems to serve as the source material for "We Are Young."



Hear it? The way the song opens with piano chords keeping a steady marching beat, and how the synthesizer picks that up again during the chorus. The way the tempo shifts. The way the instrumentation drops out significantly during the chorus, to emphasize the multi-tracked vocals. There's a choir. The song even ends on a slow, quiet note.

So remember, if you like Fun., thank ELO.

If you like Gotye, thank The Police

Belgian-Australian performer Gotye (pronounced GO-tee-ay, like the French "Gauthier") burst onto the scene earlier this year with the wildfire-like success of his single "Somebody That I Used to Know," a collaboration with Kimbra from his 2011 release Making Mirrors. The song's mass appeal is understandable; it combines an unusual beat with multi-instrumental accents like xylophone, distorted surf guitar, and a strange, haunting guitar effect that sounds like a theremin. The song is primal in its subject matter, but manages to express a very familiar human emotion over a sound that feels fresh and cutting-edge.



But if you're at all like me, the first time you heard this song, you thought, "Who's doing this great cover of a Police song?"

Because every single element that Gotye uses to his advantage in "Somebody That I Used to Know" was pioneered by Sting and company in the late '70s and early '80s. These elements can be found in just about any song by The Police from that era, but perhaps no song better illustrates this point than "Can't Stand Losing You" from their debut album in 1978:



First, the obvious parallels: these two songs are in exactly the same key and are powered by the same unusual, reggae-inspired beat. They are both about lost love. (Nothing terribly amazing there; half of the songs ever written are about lost love, the other half are written about love not yet realized.) Both use the technique of a restrained, single voice on the verse before opening up into a full-chord harmonization on the choruses.

But then there are the subtler similarities, like the way Gotye apes Sting's phrasing (both plaintive and powerful) when he goes full-throated on the choruses, or the way the drums come in splashy toward the end of the song to kick up the energy level.

In almost every way, "Somebody That I Used to Know" sounds like a direct reference to "Can't Stand Losing You." So if you like Gotye, remember... thank The Police.

If you like Bon Iver, thank Steve Winwood

Okay, I know you're thinking I'm crazy with this one, but bear with me. I'm not suggesting that the parallels between this year's Best New Artist Grammy winner and the classic blues-rock wunderkind are the overt kind. Part of Bon Iver's appeal is that the music doesn't quite sound like anything else you've heard.

Justin Vernon, the creator/songwriter who essentially is Bon Iver, layers multi-tracked falsetto vocals over lilting-yet-catchy melodies, and then he adds in just enough sonic interest to be appealing to the modern ear. This sonic interest usually takes the form of synthesizers, strings and beats. And it's through the application of those elements that a reverence for the 80s-era blues-pop of Steve Winwood manifests itself.

Listen first to the song "Calgary" from Bon Iver's 2011 self-titled album:



The song opens with a synthesizer playing an unresolved minor chord and the tracked vocals creating the shape of the melody over that sound; it isn't until more than a minute in that drum beats and distorted guitars enter the mix. The overall sound is one of stripped-down maximalism, as if there were once a hundred other elements that made up this song, all of which are now only hinted at through the few that remain.

Now listen to Winwood's "Don't You Know What the Night Can Do?" from 1988's Roll With It:



There are a lot of similarities here - unresolved minor chords on the synthesizer, multiple-tracked vocals, a relatively restrained arrangement (for the '80s) that relies heavily on synthesizer and beats. The melody itself is more traditional R&B than anything Bon Iver writes, but when Winwood sings, "And we turn into music," it is with the same raw emotion that Bon Iver sings, "Oh the demons come, they can't subside."

(This relationship between Bon Iver and '80s blues-pop is less crazy than it at first seems - Vernon readily confesses to a love of Bonnie Raitt, once an undisputed star of 80s-era blues-pop herself. He even works a gorgeous cover of Raitt's "I Can't Make You Love Me" into his set.)

So consider the fact that if you like Bon Iver, you can thank Steve Winwood.

If you like Ryan Adams, thank The Faces

I could write reams about the chameleon-esque tendencies of enigmatic rocker Ryan Adams and the debt he owes to a wide swath of early rock and soul pioneers. (In fact, I did write a very comprehensive review of my favorite of Adams's albums, 2001's Gold. It is still available online here.)

But today, let's talk about a very specific debt Adams owes to Rod Stewart who, along with the rest of the lineup that called themselves The Faces, made four albums that have gone on to influence countless bands that followed, though they were never particularly commercially successful.

The Faces evolved in 1969 from an earlier incarnation called The Small Faces. It was not until they added Stewart and a pre-Rolling Stones Ron Wood to the lineup (and dropped the "Small" from their name) that they really hit their stride. They only released a handful of albums together before Stewart's burgeoning superstardom did them in -- their 1973 album Oooh La La, with its legendary cover art, was their last offering as a group.

But to this day, their influence is undeniable, and can be heard distinctly in at least one of the tracks Ryan Adams laid down on Gold.

Listen first to The Faces' biggest commercial hit, "Oooh La La," paying particular attention to the acoustic guitar lick immediately following the words "Oooh La La," which are finally uttered for the first time toward the end of the song:



Now listen to Ryan Adams sing "Rescue Blues":



You should immediately be able to pick out a very familiar guitar lick, this time played on an electric guitar, but repeated throughout the song like a kind of love letter to The Faces and 1973. The whole album is a love letter to a bygone era and this connection is just one small homage, but it is possibly my favorite moment on the album for its obvious reverence. So, if you like Ryan Adams (this song, at least), thank The Faces.

If you like Adele, thank Etta James

Legendary blues singer Etta James passed away yesterday at the age of 73 (remarkably just three days after the death of Johnny Otis, the man who first discovered her singing with a girl-group called the Creolettes as a teenager.) Her incredible talent sustained a six-decade-long career and produced one of the biggest blues hits of all time, the inimitable "At Last." Her influence on modern music is probably immeasurable. She laid the groundwork for an entire generation of female R&B artists, and has been immortalized on film by no less than Beyonce in the greatly underappreciated movie, Cadillac Records.

But perhaps no current artist owes a greater creative debt to Etta James than Adele. Adele has had enormous success in the past few years by adhering very closely to the blueprint that Etta James first set down in the 1950s: throaty, impassioned vocals mixed with symphonic blues arrangements.

Take for example, the song "Turning Tables" from her latest album, 21:



Listen to the strings arrangement. The sad, defiant lyrics. The throaty push of her husky vocal tone. (This in particular is pure homage to Etta James, right down to the signature glottal rasp.)

Now compare that to Etta's 1961 hit "Fool That I Am:"



This song is rhythmically smoother than almost any Adele song (it was made for an era when men and women still swayed in each other's arms on dance floors occasionally), but otherwise every element of Adele's interpretation can be traced to this song, and others just like it.

Etta James was unparalleled at channeling raw emotion through her voice, a mantle that Adele has assumed, and which (I would argue) is the key to her success. So if you like Adele, thank Etta James. May she rest in peace.

If you like Mumford & Sons, thank... America

I think it's fair to say that the band America is best remembered (if they are remembered at all) for their 1972 AM radio hit "Horse with No Name," which is somewhat unfortunate, as that song has not aged as well as the rest of their catalog. That particular song sounds more trite and gimmicky now than it did when it was released, whereas the rest of their songs achieve a timeless blend of acoustic hooks and breezy vocal harmonies that evoke 70s-era California in the best possible way.

No song better illustrates their appealing folk-pop sound than "Ventura Highway," from their 1973 release Homecoming:



In this song, you hear a driving rhythmic insistence, complex minor-to-major chord progressions, a perpetual, jangly background guitar and beautiful vocal harmonies employed only on the choruses.

And if you're thinking any of that sounds familiar, it may have something to do with Mumford & Sons. Listen now to the ubiquitous "Little Lion Man" from their 2009 release Sigh No More:



Again you hear a driving rhythmic insistence paired with complex chord progressions. Again you hear beautiful vocal harmonies employed primarily on the choruses. And where America used a jangly, high-capoed guitar, Mumford & Sons famously uses a banjo to achieve the very same sound.

(It bears noting that America has influenced many bands that have come since. Fountains of Wayne's Adam Schlesinger cites them as a huge influence and even helped to produce their 2007 "comeback" album Here & Now.)

So if you like Mumford & Sons, remember... thank America.

If you like The Avett Brothers, thank The Band

The now-iconic Canadian rock band was still called The Hawks when they first met Bob Dylan in 1965, but by the time he asked them to join his tour as backing band later that year, they had already become simply The Band. In the roughly eight years they performed together under that name, The Band (including prolific songwriters Robbie Robertson and Levon Helm) amassed an extensive catalog of songs, all of which combined R&B-based rock and roll with Southern folk-country to forge a new sound that complemented the direction Dylan had taken since going electric.

It's a recipe that still works today, as evidenced by The Avett Brothers. Listen, for example, to "And It Spread" from their 2009 album I and Love and You:



That slight twang in the vocals. The confident, almost defiant acoustic guitar rhythm. The mournful, wandering fiddle line.

Now listen to The Band's version of "The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down," from their self-titled 1969 album,(a song written by Robertson and covered extensively ever since):



You'll hear the same twang in the vocals. The very same confident, defiant acoustic guitar (right down to the same rhythmic structure.) No mournful fiddle here, but a mournful, wandering harmonica instead.

This was the album that elevated The Band to the pantheon of classic rock gods, influencing all of their peers and, subsequently, countless bands that would follow. Including, evidently, the Avett Brothers. So if you like the Avett Brothers, remember... thank The Band.